She lived in a closet. Protected from anyone who might take her to a work camp. They were quiet days alone with her journal. One day she wrote,
“Thank goodness I’m free from the camps.”
She was held underground. Protected from the ones who wanted her to work as a slave. They were terrifying days surrounded by others in silence. One day she whispered to another,
“Thank goodness we’re free from slavery.”
She lived in a house run by traffickers. This one night no one chose her, and she thought,
“Thank goodness I’m free from the pain tonight.”
She worked in an office. After years of education she lifted herself to a corner office. She sent a memo to the team and this time when the boss didn’t come in to “talk” with her she believed,
“Thank goodness I’m free from misconduct.”
She married him 15 years ago. She’d learned to be quiet and to hold her head down. When he came home drunk and fell fast asleep on the couch she sighed deep relief,
“Thank goodness I’m free from getting beaten tonight.”
She sat on the stoop of her front step. Fireworks were going off the night before Independence day.
She watched them in disbelief, and thought,
“She isn’t free.”